


The storm who leaves no trace.

by Mechanical_Candle



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, Magic and Stuff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Urban Fantasy, alternative universe, mage!Laurent, slowburnish, soulbound universe, were-creature!Damen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26301409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mechanical_Candle/pseuds/Mechanical_Candle
Summary: It's been a year since Laurent left the beaches of Normandy, half the mage he use to be and with a permanent wound in his soul. That's not going to stop him seeking out the man who took everything for him twice.Damen just wants to forget about his past and work for a living, even if that leaves him with the sting of betrayal and a hole where his pride use to be.Laurent and Damen find themselves pushed together, facing down a common enemy that wants to see them both in the ground.
Relationships: Ancel/Berenger (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently devoured the Soulbound Series and wanted to write this immediately. This is Captive Prince characters in the soulbound universe with similar plots of both series used. Characters from Soulbound will not be appearing. This is a weird mess of characteristic that are probably OOC and I'm sorry in advance. I really don't even know what I'm doing anymore.
> 
> Depictions of PTSD, abuse, death and maladaptive coping techniques, but like, they work through it. 
> 
> Aiming for a weekly update, but who knows with me.
> 
> Let me know of any improvements or mistakes etc. Comments really help and I would love to know what you like/hate about this so far, or if I should continue.
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> P.S. this was copied and pasted from docs and while I tried to troubleshoot often shit slips through, apologies

Prologue.

_Sand._

_Ash._

_Blood._

The sand was everywhere, in his eyes, his ears, he could feel it shift under the tips of his fingers as they skimmed aimlessly over the ground. Trying to move his head, he felt the tiny grains tumble across his face, settling into every nook, cutting into him. The ash was powder in his mouth, tainted horribly with the stink of burnt flesh all around him. Blood. He could taste the blood too. His own? Auguste’s? He could feel it, sticky around the marks on his throat, mixing with the sand.

He was on his back; he knew that distantly. The sky above him empty and impossibly blue, the sun hot on his face, his back pressed into the heat of the sand. He tried to move, to sit up, but the movement caused something to rip and tear. No. It was already torn, but what? It hurt, everything hurt, there was something torn and broken inside of him. Absently he reached out, trying to find Auguste. He found their connection broken; a cold silence where Auguste use to be.

_Sand._

_Ash._

_Blood._

All three bubbled out of his mouth as he started to scream.

…

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her silk dress to his hard, naked, body.

He leaned into her, letting her familiar scent calm him amongst the strong smells raising off the pride, his pride. It was enough to cause any were-creature a headache. He could smell excitement, fear, dread, and the hunger among them all. There was the scratch of half formed claws, low growls, the panting of breaths. Yet, all this he could block out with Jokaste in his arms, always calm and level-headed, smelling of devotion and ambition.

“Let’s end this,” he said, pulling away, he let his arms drift away from her while he turned to face his brother.

His brother had shifted before he finished speaking, muscle and blood exploding out, bones cracking and rearranging until a lion unlike any found in the wild stood before him. His hazel eyes burned bright, reflecting the distant lights of Athens in the dim fighting circle.

The pride called out, and roared, urging Damen on. He raised his arms, smiling at them, confident in his soon to be victory. Kastor should never have challenged him for control of the pride, he would make him show throat and be done with it all.

Facing down Kastor, he shifted as well, his own body shredding to reveal hard muscle, his thick mane billowing out and reaching halfway down his body. His claws were easily four inches long and cut into the hard-packed earth beneath him like it was nothing. His canines thick and long, reminiscent more of a sabretooth than any wild lion. He was easily a foot taller than Kastor, and stronger in every way.

The second he finished shifting he felt the sharp familiar prick of silver sliding into his flesh, stabbing between his ribs. Whipping his head around, he watched as Jokaste pushed the plunger of the needle that was buried in his flesh, filling his body with the agony of aconite.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling the needle out and palming it discreetly into her clothing.

His body instantly weakened; the world blurred around him. He didn’t even know which way he was facing when Kastor crashed into him, burying his teeth in his neck.

…

_Sand._

_Ash._

_Blood._

He woke strapped to a stretcher he knew that much. He thought maybe he was moving. There was the familiar prick of an IV in the back of each hand, he couldn’t feel much more than that.

Someone was sobbing next to him.

“He’s gone… he’s fucking gone.”

“I know,” Laurent said in one quiet breath, falling back into unconsciousness.

…

“He’s dead,” Jokaste said as she stripped out of her blood-stained dress.

“Good,” Kastor said, pulling her naked body on top of him.

He could still taste his brother’s blood on his tongue. That didn’t stop him lapping the still wet blood from Jokaste’s skin and tasting it all over again.

Chapter One.

“I hate bars,” Laurent mumbled into his phone, weaving through the late-night crowd.

He wasn’t really dressed for the Friday night crowd, his tight cherry red pants were faded, his Pink Floyd shirt was thin and full of holes, and the grey scarf around his neck had more than one loose thread. His denim jack however was pristine and still an even all over black.

“You’re going to hate this one even more, sweetie,” Ancel purred down the line, “It’s a total dive bar, where all the independents and fetish struck mundane’s go, usually a vamp or two dealing Shine so you better keep that pretty neck of yours covered.”

“Sounds delightful,” he said, shoving a cigarette into the corner of his mouth and conjuring a small flame to light it, “Anything else I should know?”

“Well, you should know that I just finished shaving, and let me tell you, it’s so soft down there. You should come back and feel it for yourself.”

“I would honestly rather swallow razor blades and shit them out,” Laurent said around a puff of his cigarette.

“You suck on those cancer stick’s when really you should be…”

“Enough, Ancel,” he said calmly, “I know your pride is damaged that your allure doesn’t work on me, but I really need information.”

“Unfortunately, my better half isn’t here, and he really is 90% of my impulse control.”

“Have you been on Tumblr again? And when is Berenger getting back?”

“Fuck you!” Ancel hissed, his voice tainting with the demonic nature he hid behind green eyes and red hair.

“Never,” he said, checking around him before running across the street. He wasn’t that far from the bar now. “You sound hangry, didn’t Berenger leave you anything to eat?”

Ancel’s response was to hang up on him, and really, what else was he to expect when teasing an Incubus about being sex starved. He should have tried to get more information out of him, but if Ancel really was as hungry as he was making out, he doubted he would be getting much more than he already had. As much as Ancel was trying to peddle his wares, it was only because he knew Laurent would never bite. Who knew monogamous Incubi were a thing?

He finally reached the bar only to find a line to get in. It was an older building five stories tall with cracked plaster revealing the red brick underneath. The crowd at the door was a mix of were-creatures and young mundane’s, some of which were wearing fake ears and tails. Rolling his eyes and flicking away his cigarette stub, Laurent cast a simple look away charm and headed towards the door. There were minimal wards on the threshold, not surpising for a public bar that probably had a high turnover in both patrons and staff. All it took was a look away charm and a tightening of his shields and he easily slipped inside; the bouncer checking ID’s at the door was none the wiser.

His information on the place stood as such:

  1. It was a dive bar that held independent/exiled were-creature, giving them a place to go that was allowed by other packs.
  2. Vampires used the place to peddle their drugs to the mundane’s that had a thing for the preternatural community.
  3. Security was lax although Ancel had told him that the latest bar manager had been trying to crack down on illegal activity, specifically the sale of Shine and challis.
  4. There were three official exits, the front entrance, a back door out that lead out through a smoking area and an exit behind the bar. However, Ancel was kind enough to inform him that he could “squeeze that tight arse” thought the window in the men’s toilet if he needed to (If he really needed to get out, Laurent would blow a hole through the wall, low profile be damned).
  5. Aimeric Fortaine had been seen at the bar on more than one occasion, usually on the arm of a variety of different men.
  6. If Aimeric showed face there was good change Laurent was going to blow him into bite size pieces. If he was feeling particularly spiteful he would mail Jord his favourite piece.



Walking in, he sat at a vacant seat at the bar and took the place in. It wasn’t much too look at, exposed brick and a collection of tables and chairs that were old enough to be tacky but not quite old enough to be retro. The place was all cracked lino and peeling varnish, ancient cigarette burns and sticky carpet. He couldn’t sense any vampires in the room, so Laurent had to assume that the new bar manager was doing as Ancel said and keeping tabs on the more illegal activities.

The rest of the crowd was as expected, a ragtag group of various were-creatures, most of them sitting alone, eyeing each other carefully, a lucky few were surrounded by mundane’s that stared at them reverently. There was a terrible band of mundane’s on stage dressed in terrible depictions of various preternatural creatures. Laurent couldn’t help himself as he scoffed and pulled another cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a flick of his fingers.

“Oi!” someone said loudly next to him, “Smoking area is through the back doors.”

Laurent ignored the voice, honestly not believing anyone could be talking to him through his look away charm and shields. That is of course, until someone reached right through those shields and took him by the shoulder.

“Shit,” the man said, taking his hand back and shaking out the feeling of altered magic.

Laurent, however, was frozen in place while he took in the man before him. He didn’t know how he had missed the man when walking in. He was tall and muscle bound, with a head full of loose dark curls surrounding dark rimmed eyes with long thick lashes. However, there were two very important factors about him Laurent couldn’t shy away from. His bright golden eyes, the shine of them denoted him as god pack. That, and the fact that he was obviously Damianos Akielos, the supposedly dead leader of the Athens god pack.

“You, out, now,” Damianos said, leaning over the bar to speak to him quietly, “Magic users aren’t welcome here.”

Laurent felt his shields clamp down around him almost painfully. He had done enough to hide himself from the average preternatural creature, but he was in no way prepared to face someone with the god pack strain. Ancel was going to get a severe talking later that night. Reassessing his shields, he turned to Damianos and played dumb.

“Is that so?” Laurent said, taking another puff of his cigarette and blowing it towards Damianos, slightly to the left but still close enough to be bothersome, “I had the impression this was a place for outcasts, for those that no one wants and don’t belong.”

“Are you mocking us?” he said, a grumble rising up through his chest.

“Calm your tit’s cat boy,” Laurent said, ashing onto the carpet with a flick of his long fingers. He stopped paying attention and pulled his phone out in preparation to text Ancel a nasty message. “I’m just here to find an old friend, then I’ll be out of your perfectly conditioned hair.”

Usually at this point Laurent was used to name calling, so he wasn’t really paying attention when a hand broke through his shields for a second time to grab him by the collar and lift him off his chair. In that moment Laurent realised two things, Damianos was far stronger than anyone should be, even for god pack, and Ancel was going to receive a surprise, like bleach in his spray-in conditioner, or chilli sauce in his lubricant.

“Try me,” Laurent said with a teeth bright smile, flicking his hand to grab Damianos by the wrist, his cigarette disappearing into a puff of smoke.

“Oh dear,” a familiar voice said, cutting through the crowd in a very distinct wave, “You really never change do you, Laurent?”

“Aimeric, you fuck,” Laurent said, not looking away from Damianos’ bright golden eyes, “I’d like a word or two with you.”

“You know, I still check my old email, you could have just sent me a message.”

“Are you serious?” Laurent said, finally looking away from Damianos, “You kept [cocksmasher3000@live.com](mailto:cocksmasher3000@live.com) active after all these years?”

“Cock smasher three thousand?” Damianos repeated, his grip loosening.

“I was a horny thirteen-year-old when I made it,” Aimeric said with a roll of his eyes, “Put him down Damen, and bring us a bottle and two glasses.”

Turning away, Aimeric headed out the back door, a plume of smoke rising up as he threw the door open.

Damianos didn’t so much as put him down as drop him. Fortunately, Laurent was deft on his feet and landed with barely a stumble.

“Good kitty,” he said, following after Aimeric, ignoring the feel of golden eyes boring into his back.

The smoker’s area was mostly empty and consisted of a collection of tables pressed into a back alley that lead back out onto the street. A small group of mundane’s sat at a table near the door, chain-smoking away. Thinking it was a good idea Laurent pulled out yet another cigarette, lighting it up whilst ignoring the part of his brain that told him he really needed to cut back. Aimeric lead them to a table that was under the buildings fire escape stairs, he waved at one of the empty chairs while taking one for himself.

“So, how long has it been? Two, three years?” Aimeric asked.

“Four,” Laurent said, checking the area before taking a seat.

“That long already?” he said, pushing the ash tray in his direction, wrinkling his nose as he did, “You weren’t a chain smoker last time I saw you.”

“Shit happens,” Laurent said, taking note of Damianos pushing through the bar doors, a bottle of scotch and two glasses in his hands. He placed them on the table with a sideways glance at Laurent that he wasn’t completely sure was malicious. Without a word the werelion turned around, leaving them to their own devices.

“How’d you get the hulk to do your bidding?” Laurent said, watching the man’s tense back as he left, “Your latest fuck buddy?”

“He works for me, I own this bar,” Aimeric said, pouring them both a drink with a heavy hand. Ancel was definitely going to wake up to a shaved head after leaving out that nugget of information. “Anyway, what do you want Laurent? I doubt you’re here for a social call.”

“I’ve run out of options,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette and fighting the urge to light another, “I’m looking for _him_.”

Americ set his glass down hard enough for the liquid inside to spill over the edges.

“And what makes you think I’d know?” he said, not quiet containing the anger in his voice.

“You forget I was at your trail,” Laurent said, raising his own glass and smelling scotch strong enough to curl his nose hairs.

“Yes, the trial where I took immunity to practically gift wrap your Uncle to you and Auguste, yet you two still managed to fuck it up.” Aimeric took a large pull from the glass, draining most of it in one go. “I’d be stupid to still be in contact with him. I spent years hiding from him, he’d kill me if I ever saw him again. Oh yeah, and he’s fucking dead!”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe it, you fed us lies for years because you still held loyalty to him. Just for you to suddenly roll over and give him up,” Laurent said, finally taking a small sip. It was strong, the liquid burning down throat. He honestly didn’t believe Aimeric wouldn’t have done something to it so as much as he wanted to gulp it down, he put the glass down, staring back across as Aimeric.

“Not a trace of him in over a year, not one appearance, nor any of his goons.”

“Why do you have to dredge all this shit up? He’s dead Laurent, you need to get over it, get on with your life. Do some normal mundane shit now that the army booted you.”

Laurent clenched his jaw, his teeth audibly grinding together.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you too, Laurent. Honourable discharge, six months in recovery after that shit in Normandy, not to mention a monthly salary anyone would be happy with even with your soul ravaged as it is.”

Laurent stood up sharply, the chair toppling over behind him. He felt his magic simmering under the surface of his skin, threatening to bubble over and _hurt_ Aimeric.

“I didn’t even have to read up on that one, I noticed it the moment you walked in. You don’t hide it as well as you think you do. You walk around with that thing like you’re dragging around an amputated limb. So why do you have to come here and fuck with my shit when you were there when he died.”

The air was thick with the static of magic as both of them reached to their source of power. Laurent was the stronger of the two having lived and trained as a combat mage, but Aimeric was still a military trained sorcerer, even with his dishonourable discharge, and Laurent, well, he had a gaping hole in his soul that prevented him from tapping into ley lines like any other mage.

“Get out of here Laurent,” Aimeric said as electricity crackled across his knuckles.

Laurent raised his fist, opening it up to reveal a mage-globe glowing bright blue, promising an unknown amount of damage.

“I’ll leave when I get some answers,” he said with a hiss.

“I have nothing for you, just because you can’t get over…”

They both stopped abruptly with the shift of magical energy, someone had just shifted mass, but it wasn’t one of the were-creatures, it was something else.

“Who did you bring?” Aimeric said with a hiss.

“I came alone,” Laurent said.

They stared each other down, neither willing to back down. That is until the doors burst open and a collection of mundane’s and were-creatures ran out, pushing passed them to flee out onto the street. From the open door came the unmistakable stench of a troll, followed but the loud roar of a lion.

“That’s Damen,” Aimeric said, dropping his offensive and running back inside.

Laurent however, kept his offensive at the ready. He also took a moment to take a deep drink from his glass of scotch and lock down his shields as tightly as possible. Only then did he turn back and run into the bar.

Entering the bar, he took in a number of factors:

  1. There was a troll in the bar so big that it had to hunch over to fit in the room, its head and shoulders scraping the ceiling as it hulked about.
  2. The bar had emptied out leaving only a few injured behind.
  3. Somehow, Aimeric had gotten himself knocked the fuck out, and was one of the injured strewn across the floor.
  4. Damianos was standing over his bosses strewn body, his cloths partially shredded from his and halfway shifted.
  5. Damianos was holding back the trolls large club with clawed hands.
  6. He recognised the troll.



“Fucks sake,” Laurent mumbled under his breath, “Oi, Govart, I’d recognise that ugly arse nose of yours anywhere!” he said, raising his voice over Damianos’ growls.

The troll, and his stench, whipped around in Laurent’s direction, losing focus on the were-lion in front of him.

“You!” he said, or at least that’s what Laurent though he mumbled out through his massive underbite.

He let go of his massive club in order to reach towards Laurent, the action causing Damianos to stumble under the sudden change of pressure. He didn’t miss a beat though, as he instantly rearranged his hold, squared his feet and swung the club right back at the troll before he even had a chance to take two steps towards Laurent.

The club snapped against the troll’s back, a spray of wood erupting from the impact. Govart stumbled and crash to the ground, taking out a number of tables as he went.

“Take the idiot and run,” Laurent said, stepping up to face Govart.

“Are you sure?” Damianos said, easily lifting the unconscious lump that was Aimeric. His features were once again human although his eyes still shone in an unnatural way. Across the room, Govart started to lift himself off the floor.

“I need answers and you need a job, get him out of here,” Laurent said, the mage-globe in his hand turning into a rolling hot ball of flames to further answer his question.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, shouldering Aimeric. Moving with unnatural speed, he also managed to lift the few injured patrons into his arms before dashing out the doors into the night.

“Must be my night,” Govart said, shuffling towards him, “All my birds lined up in a pretty little row.” He sifted through the splintered remnants of his wooden club and picked out a smaller but still sizeable piece of wood.

“I knew he was still alive,” Laurent hissed, the ball of fire in his hand growing, “You’re not smart enough to think of seeking out revenge.”

“Doesn’t matter what you think,” Govart said, hefting his lump of wood, he then added, almost thoughtfully, “I’m gonna rip out your tongue.”

Laurent released the spell that had been growing in his hand. A flurry of flames ripping out of him and easily covering Govart, the smell of singed hair filling the room. The troll pushed against it, event as his green skin started to burn and turn brown. He swung what was left of his club, the now flaming remains crashing against Laurent’s shields. He stopped the swing, but still felt the shudder of a diminished impact resonate through his body. Pushing through with his spell, he focused on the flames, willing them to burn faster, hotter. Govart lifted his makeshift club, even as it burned in his hand and brought it down for another shuddering blow.

What he really needed was an incendiary spell, but when he instinctively reached for it, his heart thumped painfully in his chest, his soul wound reminding him that he was still injured, and always would be. The shock caused him to lose focus for just a moment, his shield flickering. That was all it took for Govart’s next swing to crash into him, flinging him to the side and causing him to crash into the floor.

Skidding across the bar, he hit an array of broken furniture before coming to a stop. While he hadn’t been directly hit after managing to pull his shields in at the last second, he was still left breathless by the assault. He wasn’t dead, and he told himself that was all that mattered as he pushed himself up and threw another ball of flame at Govart’s misshapen nose. He followed it up by slamming a hand into the floor, the shockwave he sent out creating a crack that Govart stumbled and tripped over.

The mass of green stench hit the ground at an impressive speed, his chin cracking into the ground hard enough that one of his lower canines flew from his mouth and skittered across the floor. Struggling to his feet, Laurent hurried over to the lump, focusing his shields precisely.

He may not have been the best at defensive magic, as he was especially learning that night, but he could focus it to a point. He wrapped his shield around his fist and threw his best punch forward, cracking into Govart’s already malformed nose. Blood flowed out from his nose as cartilage snapped and grinded under the pressure. Govart dropped under the blow, his troll form shifting and shrinking back into the miserable lump of a human Laurent was familiar with. Snapping his shields back up, Laurent waited, panting softly as the adrenaline started to drain from him. When Govart remained motionless, Laurent let his magic go, letting out a sigh as it drained from him.

“Well done,” Damianos said, causing Laurent to jump. He was stepping back into the bar, his claws and teeth out. The werelion was too silent for him to register his approach, even as highly strung as he was.

“Where’s Aimeric?” Laurent said, pulling a thoroughly crush cigarette from his pocket and lighting it up. He pretended his hand didn’t shake as he took a drag, locking eyes with Damianos as if he dared him to say anything about it.

“I hid him in a dumpster up the road,” Damianos said, stepping closer, shifting back to human.

Laurent couldn’t help the snort of laughter, “That’s perfect, did you smear anything in his hair?”

“I, in no way, took the time to ensure bin juice leaked into the hair of my passive aggressive boss,” he said, holding the door open for Laurent.

Stepping out into the street, the were met with the sound of distant sirens and a crowd of voyeurs.

“I really don’t want to have to deal with police right now,” Damiano said with a sigh as he took a ring of keys from his pocket and locked the door to the bar. “I better go drag Aimeric out of the bin.”

“I’ll come with you so I can rub it in,” Laurent said.

They had made it a block over and were in the process of pulling a still unconscious Aimeric out of a bin when they both stopped, tensing as there was once again felt a shift in mass. The entire ground floor of the bar exploded outwards in a shower of brick, plaster, and wooden splinters. Out of the cloud of powder rose Govart, taller than Laurent had ever seen him and larger than he had any right to be.

“That’s not possible,” he breathed, pulling his shields back up to surround him and Damianos, “You need to get Aimeric out of here.”

Govart let out a shriek that shattered the glass of surrounding buildings, a shower of broken glass bouncing off the shield he held.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Damianos said, lowering Aimeric to the ground.

In an instant he shifted, his lion form bulging out until he was easily the size of a van. The shift sent out a fine mist of blood, a streak of it landing directly across Laurent’s face. Droplets landed in his mouth, causing him to freeze as the metallic taste hit his tongue.

_Sand._

_Ash._

_Blood._

Unable to focus any further, his shields shuddered and dropped around him. Govart started to charge towards them, flipping an on-coming police car as he moved. Damianos roared, the ground shaking from the sound waves. Then he stopped and gentle nudged at Laurent who remained motionless, the mist of blood collecting into rivulets and dripping down his face. Nudging him again more forcefully, Damianos crouched down, his bright eyes focused on Laurent.

Vaguely, Laurent knew what Damianos wanted him to do. Curling his fingers into the thick hair of his mane, Laurent swung his leg over and climbed onto Damianos’ back. After he was securely on board, Damianos stood, sending out another ear shattering roar before easily picking Aimeric up in his mouth and setting off with breath taking speed. Govart let out another shriek and took after them, but was unable to keep up with the pace that was being set.

Wiping the spray of blood from his face, Laurent reset his shields, even though they were thin and pulsed to the beat of his heart.

“Head to the eastern suburbs,” Laurent said, barely able to push the words out but knowing that he was heard, “Follow the coal train line to the city limits. I have a place there, heavily warded… a home. We’ll be safe there if you can run fast enough.”

Letting out a roar he increased his speed, the world around them turned into a blur as Damianos skillfully wove through the streets. Closing his eyes, Laurent pressed his face into the thick mane and tried to forget the taste of blood in his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, updating on time.
> 
> ...
> 
> I had far too much fun write Ancel.

Chapter Two.

Ancel was laid out on the couch in some of his more expensive lingerie, and if the couch was turned slightly more towards the door than usual with the shadows accentuating just the right angels, well, it wasn’t like he had spent an hour positioning it just right. The lingerie was an emerald green one piece, to match his eyes, and went with his satin robe, which wasn’t quite the right shade of green but still worked perfectly. His hair was of course laid out in silky perfection and his lips peach with a glossy sheen. He was still contemplating whether or not leaving the heels off was a good idea or not when the door burst open and one of Berenger’s mud crusted gum boot came flying towards him.

He deflected the boot easily with a flick of his wrist which, unfortunately, left a streak of mud across the back of his hand. Standing in the doorway was Laurent, smouldering with energy, hair in disarray and streaks of blood across his face.

“I’m not quite sure I deserved that,” he said, trying to wipe the smear off the back of his hand onto the couch. It was Laurent’s couch, so it didn’t matter if he ruined the upholstery.

Laurent, still not saying a word, stepped aside and pointed out the door. The light was dim but Ancel could still make out the figure there. He was tall (he really should have worn those heels), muscular (naked), thick curls (head, chest, groin), a slight feral glint to his eyes (the half-conscious body in his arms was inconsequential).

He sat up at the sight, planting his hands on the couch between his spread legs while his robe slid down his shoulders (it took days to perfect that particular reveal).

“You brought home snacks?”

He let his true form peak through, just a touch, just enough to let the pheromones through. As expected, the man’s eyes dilated, and it was easy to see his interest (the beauty of a naked man).

“Down,” Laurent said, throwing the other boot at him, “No snacking.”

He rolled away from the boot easily, coming upright off the couch, the lack of heels disgustingly obvious. How was he supposed to make a proper entrance to the god-pack lion, without heels? Of course, he knew it was Damianos, he figured that Laurent would be upset about that little fact (which was half the reason why he never told him). Still, he didn’t expect Laurent to bring him home. Although, he really couldn’t blame him.

“Give them hospitality,” Laurent said, stalking passed them into the house.

Not long after a door slammed loudly and then Ancel was left with a very handsome (and very naked) were-lion and a semi-conscious man (Aimlin? Aimi? Aimeric?) who wasn’t a complete waste in the looks department.

“Be welcome,” he said, dropping into a curtsey using his robe.

Never one to miss an opportunity, he stood with a flourish, whipping off his robe and revealing his true form in the same instance. Long horns curled out from his temples while his eyes turned from emerald green to solid blood red. His wings stretch out from his back (not completely, couldn’t put holes in the ceiling again), while his tail unfurled and swished back and forth behind him. All in all, a good reveal considering the circumstances.

Damianos looked unimpressed, Amberlin (Elric?), looked dazed.

“Isn’t there supposed to be food and drink with hospitality?” Damianos asked.

“Maybe I’m the snack,” Ancel grumbled, dropping the whole thing and heading towards the kitchen, “Follow me then.”

Being offered and taking hospitality was basic fare among the preternatural community. Thresholds were uncomfortable to those outside of a household and stopped some from being able to act at all. By providing food and drink and welcoming them, the threshold allowed them within the perimeter without harm. However, if they were to act against this welcome in malice, they would find the threshold acting against them, clamping down on them in a way that made it impossible for them to act. That, and the wards Laurent had set would make the place damn near impregnable.

There was the slight problem however, that the kitchen was bare. Out of the three occupants of the house only Laurent ate actual food, and he seemed to be determined to live predominately off of cigarettes and spite. Ancel also had zero knowledge of how human food worked.

He started by having them sit down (on the floor, the table and chairs broke two months back) and giving them both a glass of water (Damianos took a small sip before helping a still dazed Amberlin [?], drink from his own glass). From there he looked through the fridge and was met with a collection of shrivelled objects that may have been vegetables at one point (he didn’t need to eat the food to know it was off). Closing the fridge, he sent Damianos a smile before moving to the pantry, which was also empty.

Wracking his brain, he tried to remember when he had actually seen Laurent eat and where the food had come from. Usually, the food just appeared at the door, yet somehow he didn’t think that was magically going to happen this time. Other times, he had bread (he knows what bread is!), which he smeared various different pastes’ from bottles over. Bottles that were in the fridge!

Sending Damianos another smile, he closed the pantry and headed back to the fridge. There was no bread, but there was a collection of the bottles. He took a hand full of different jars and spun around to face them with triumph. Kicking the door shut behind him; he placed the bottles on the ground before them and once again repeated, “Be welcome,”. Without the fanfare though, he wasn’t wasting his reveals on the unappreciative.

“Um… thank you?” Damianos said, searching through the bottles before picking one out.

Amarant (maybe, he feels like he got it right earlier, Aimi?), mumbled something that could have been a thank you, picking out a jar of his own. The both of them dug their fingers into the contents, bringing it to their mouth. Ancel could tell the moment hospitality was met as they both seemed to let out a physical sigh, sitting up straighter as the weight of the threshold lifted.

“What happened?” he asked, leaning back against the counter and crossing his legs (another moment when the heels would have looked amazing).

“Well, a troll showed up at work, and just started swinging his club at me. Then Aimeric (Aimeric!) runs in, trips over and gets himself knocked out, like, runs in all hero like, trips on his own feet and BAM! Out cold. Anyway, troll dude is suddenly very interested in him, so I have to stop that, he pays my wage you know. If I didn’t I wouldn’t hear the end of it, _“A REAL, bar manager would be able to stop a troll”_ , or “ _If you say you love working nights, I’m going to assume you know how to deal with trolls”,_ you know how it is (Ancel, in no way, knew how _it_ was). Anyway, I’m there, holding this troll at bay, wondering about how to word the incident report and get him out of the bar without causing too much damage, when blondie walks in. He’s leaking magic and troll guy seems to know him too, so then…”

“Oh, my fucking, whatever god you believe in!” Ancel said, pushing away from the counter and wandering into the house. The situation really was dire when Laurent was the preferred source of conversation.

The house was comprised of two bedrooms, a sleep out, and one bathroom which only became problematic when Ancel was having some, one on one time with the bathtub. Such a small setting made it easy (and overbearing) when it came to find someone. The house was dark and quiet, except for the bathroom which had a beam of light shining out from the partially opened door, the sound of running water reaching through. Knowing it was too good to be true for Laurent to leave the door open while showering, Ancel didn’t bother to announcing himself before entering the room.

He was expecting Laurent’s usual snark, maybe a raised eyebrow, if he was lucky a simple ‘fuck off’. What he got was Laurent, bent over the vanity with wet hair and scrubbing furiously at his face. The room was thick with humidity from the heat of the water, and Laurent’s face was pink skinned and raw from it.

“Oh sweetie,” Ancel said, stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

Leaning over, he reached around Laurent and shut off the flow of steaming hot water. Laurent didn’t move to berate him, nor say a word, he just gripped the vanity tightly as drops of water dripped from his chin and from the pointed tips of his hair. With anyone else, Ancel would have just upped their sex drive, he’d used it multiple times to draw people out of themselves. Unfortunately, Laurent was the one person in the world that seemed to be utterly immune to Incubus. Instead, he would have to do the unthinkable.

He would have to be _nice_ to him.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he said, pulling a towel from the rack and draping it carefully over his head, making sure not to block his line of sight. “Up you get, you’re all clean now.”

Laurent moved slowly, mechanically, his limbs moving in a detached jerky motion. When he turned to face Ancel he couldn’t quiet meet his eyes, and dropped them to stare at the ground after a half-hearted attempt. From the glimpse he got, Ancel could tell that his eyes were blood shot and just as red as the rest of his face.

“Your hair is going to be terribly dry in the morning,” Ancel said, ruffling the towel through blonde locks, “If you’re nice and let me snack on the big one I’ll let you use my spray in conditioner.”

(He had no intention of letting Laurent use his spray in conditioner).

Laurent mumbled something about bleach and betrayals but was otherwise unresponsive to Ancel’s attempt to get a rise out of him. While it was nice not being insulted, it was perturbing to have the man acting so passive.

Pulling the towel away, Ancel tried not to wince at the still raw looking skin. “Well,” he said grabbing the cuff of Laurent’s jacket, “Maybe some moisturiser instead. Come along.”

Tossing the towel behind him he pulled Laurent through the house into his bedroom. Laurent’s bedroom was a cross between an angsty teens and a hipsters wet dream. Almost everything was black, the curtains, the bed sheets, the carpet. The walls were black too, but you couldn’t tell as they were completely covered with various different images. Posters of bands, pictures ripped from magazines, newspaper articles, photographs of people, buildings, and landscapes. The furniture consisted of one double bed, crammed into a corner (if there was any sign to Ancel that Laurent never got any it was definitely the placement of his bed). He had a low set chest of draws with a record player and then shelves upon shelves of books and vinyl. Towers of books were scattered around the room and while there didn’t seem to be an order to the chaos, Laurent knew exactly whenever Ancel had been in his room (one time he borrowed Laurent’s original Rocky Horror soundtrack, and he never heard the end of it). 

“Alright, sit down,” Ancel said, pushing Laurent back until he thumped down onto the bed. Walking over to the chest of draws he pulled one out at random and started to shift through the clothes, “Time to change, what are you feeling? Led Zeppelin? Queen? Black Sabbath? I know… KISS.”

He heard a scoff behind him and smiled (not that he would let Laurent see that).

“Fucking wannabes”, Lauren said.

“I think some Queen is in order then,” Ancel said, whipping out an equally worn out shirt and shutting the draw with his hip. Laurent still sat on the edge of his bed, his head hanging down while he rubbed at his eyes.

“Why am I changing my shirt?” he asked, sounding more and more lucid.

Stalking over to the bed, Ancel let himself flop down in a position that looked effortlessly graceful and was in no way practiced.

“Honey,” he said, tugged on the scarf until it came free, “That one’s got blood on it.”

“Right.”

Turning his back (not that Ancel hadn’t seen that mess before), he shrugged out of his jacket and pulled off his shirt before slipping on the clean one and rewrapping the scarf around his neck. Shaking out the Pink Floyd shirt, he held it up to inspect. There wasn’t an abundance of blood on it, but it was definitely noticeable. Laurent sign and carefully folded the shirt into his lap.

“1980’s, The Wall European tour merch,” Laurent said, running his hands over the fabric. “People pay hundreds for this exact shirt.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t get into fights in vintage shirts?”

“I didn’t intend to get in a fight, otherwise I would have worn the one from Kmart.”

“I hear there was a troll involved. So, tell me, how’d we end up with Himbo and the pretty boy?”

…

“Did you have to act like such a himbo?” Aimeric asked, continuing to dig his fingers into the bottle of plum jam.

Damen assumed the sugar was helping him because he couldn’t think of any other reason why someone would voluntarily lick jam from their fingers.

“I didn’t particularly want to give too much information to a sex demon until I have more information myself,” Damen said.

He was dying for some real food, something more than the mouthful of peanut butter he had for hospitality. Also, he really needed to get back to the bar and talk to the police, hopefully minus a troll. Speaking of.

“Who was the troll? He seemed to know you.”

Aimeric rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as if it was suddenly very interesting, still slipping chunks of jam into his mouth.

“I think the real question is why you brought us here?”

“Cute blonde that you obviously know punches out a troll, put’s your safety first, and then offers a warded threshold, seemed like the best option available to us.”

“You couldn’t have taken me to my apartment? You know, the one with a threshold and wards that was directly upstairs?”

Standing up, Damen took time to rub some warmth back into his bare skin after sitting on the cold tiles. At least that was his cover, in reality he was getting out of range.

“I don’t think you have an apartment anymore.”

“What?!”

“Troll guy shifted straight through the roof, took out the whole bar and the first level from what I saw.”

“What was the point in hiring you then?! You’re supposed to double as security!”

Pushing himself up from the floor he stalked towards Damen, magic leaking from him so strongly Damen could smell it.

“I was trying to save you, and since you conveniently got yourself knocked out…”

“I can’t believe you told a sex demon that,”

Speaking over him, Damen continued, “Since you were unconscious and the bar was already totalled, I decided to prioritise your safety. I’ll be sure to let you get stepped on next time.”

“I can’t believe you. If you think you’ve got a job after this then,”

“Oh, shut up,” Damen said, “I’d rather swim the channel and take my chances over in England than keep working for you.”

“How dare you!”

“Not like the bar is there anymore any way.”

“This is,”

“And you were under paying me.”

“Oh dear, you really never change do you, Aimeric?”

The both stopped their bickering to face the speaker. It was the cute blonde who could knock out trolls, casually leaning against the door frame. He had changed his shirt and the jacket was missing, but the thick ragged looking scarf was still wrapped around his neck. The demon stood behind him and off to the side, openly mimicking a blow job, he then pointed to Damen and winked. The sight alone wouldn’t have done much, but the smell of leaking pheromones was thick, and Damen hated that he was reacting to it. Especially since he was standing naked in a stranger’s kitchen in front of his boss.

Well, ex-boss now.

“Would you tone down the sex drive?” the cute blonde said, turning to the demon with a scowl.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” and then, with a glance in Damen’s direction, “It’s down the hallway, second on the left, the door is unlocked.”

He left, taking his scent with him, but Damen could still feel the effects. Normally he was perfectly comfortable being naked, it’s something one gets use to, being a were-creature, you can’t shift without getting naked. However, the whole night really had him wishing he could keep at least his underwear when shifting back and forth.

“Aimeric, seems like you have some explaining to do.”

The cute blond strode into the kitchen lighting yet another cigarette. Stopping in front of Aimeric, he blew a plume of smoke in his face whilst keeping steady, and somewhat menacing, eye contact.

“You say you don’t have any contact with him and then, minutes after I start asking about him, his main slab of walking muscle shows up. Let me guess?” he said, taking a moment to inhale deeply of his cigarette, “It was all a coincidence?”

“Hi, I’m Damen,” he said, pushing in and offering his hand.

He looked at the offered hand like someone had offered him shit on a stick and asked him to grab the business end. While he didn’t take the offered hand, he did take a step back and managed to sneer out, “I know who you are, Damianos.”

Not good, considering he was supposed to be dead.

“How do you know me?”

“Do you remember Auguste d’Vere?”

_Shit, shit, shit._

“Yes,” he said, tensing and ready to shift, it would hurt being behind the threshold, but he could still manage to get out the door. “How do you know him?”

“He’s my brother.”

_Fuck! Double shit!_

“That means you’re...”

Taking another puff, he lowered his arm and turned it upwards, exposing four distinct jagged white scars carved into his flesh. Scars that Damen was responsible for. Scars that had a matching set across Auguste’s chest.

“Laurent d’Vere, although, we never met officially.”

Damen could recognise him now that the distinction was made. Last time he had seen the man he was nothing more than a thin whip of a kid. He was tiny, barely able to fill out the uniform he wore and looked more like a kid playing dress up. In reality he was already a trained soldier, and when he had turned his magic on Damen, well, he did what he had to, to defend himself.

“I was acting on behalf of my Alpha, who was in the right to object to foreign mages interfering in pack business and trespassing on pack land.”

“Not when it comes to global security,” Laurent said with a huff, “Dear old, Theomedes. I made sure to get some champagne when he died. I heard your brother ripped your throat out. Got myself a bottle for that as well, although, can’t say much for his current leadership.”

“None of that would have happened if you had just informed us of your intentions and gotten the proper approval.”

“We tried to contact your dire for months until the situation got out of hand and we had to act. We tried to do it your way and got nothing.”

That was news to Damen, while he was his father’s dire before his death. He was still only seventeen at the time of the incident with the d’Vere, which at the time meant that the dire was… “Kastor.”

“Right you are,” he said with a sneer, “If you had just listened to Auguste when he tried to explain, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten your throat torn open.”

It was a messy business and not something Damen thought back on with any sort of pride. At the time, he was acting on his father’s order. Unknown mages were interfering with pack business and by law they were to operate within reasonable measure to put an end to it. When he and Kastor had met the two brothers, Auguste _had_ tied to speak to them. However, Kastor had shifted immediately and Damen had followed his lead. What followed was a grisly fight that Damen preferred not to remember.

Looking at Laurent, he remembered drawing his blood a little too clearly. It was after he had Auguste down and pinned, he had half shifted to question their trespassing when the other one, Laurent, had turned towards him, fists full of flames at the ready. Acting on instinct, Damen had grabbed him by the arm, his claws cutting deep, and flung him away from him with all of his unnatural strength. It was only as he watched him fly through the air that he realised how young he was. He had hit the ground with an audible smacking sound, a sound a human body just shouldn’t make, and did not get up.

Later, when the pack was dealing with officials, they realised just how badly they had fucked up by attacking the soldiers when they did. Although names had been omitted, the attack made international news, and it ended up folding back on the Athens pack negatively. Because Damen had dealt the most damage, he ended up taking most of the fall. He never did find out why the d’Vere’s were in Athens though. He was told it was a security matter and to forget about it.

He consoled himself for years thinking that he was simply acting on orders. That it was his place in the pack at the time to follow the lead of the dire. However, if what Laurent said was true, then maybe Kastor’s challenge for leadership wasn’t as out of the blue as Damen initially thought.

Kastor’s betrayal was something he had spent the past year trying to forget, and he wasn’t going to let some scarred soldier bring it up now. So, he did what he had been doing for the past year.

He ran away.

“I should get back to the bar, talk to the police about what happened,” he said, moving through the house and away from Laurent’s intense gaze.

“You’re just going to leave me here?!” Aimeric said.

“I quit.”

He was out the door and gone.

…

Lauren felt the burst of magic that came with any shift, and then the lion was gone. Good riddance too. Any other time he would be happy to face down Damianos for the scars on his arm and the broken bones in the past, but he had other matters to attend to. And really, what more could Laurent do that wasn’t already done? He was the disgraced ex-leader of one of the biggest god-pack’s in Europe.

Once he was sure the man wasn’t coming back, he turned to Aimeric who was looking miserable and tired. He looked around, then at the door, then at Laurent and then… sat down on the ground.

“I really thought things would work out this time,” he said, his voice catching in his throat.

Oh. Dear. God. Aimeric was about to cry. Laurent did not know how to deal with crying people. Especially not crying traitors. His best response was to ignore it.

“Did you… want to get so Thai delivered?”

“I want Tom Yum Soup and an apple salad,” he said before bursting into full blown tears.

“Right,” Laurent said, turning around to flee the room.

As soon as he did, he felt a shift in power, a huge one, bigger than he would expect from Aimeric, and it didn’t feel like the magic of a sorcerer. Throwing his shields up, he spun around to face the force of magic, feeling the way the wards of his house reacted in alarm. Aimeric was no longer sitting on the floor. Instead he was hovering above it, his toes bobbing an inch from the ground. When he moved his head, it was unnatural and sluggish, his face remained blank as his head rolled around. And then, he snapped to attention, his eyes opening to reveal milky white instead of faded green. He smiled then, and Laurent knew what was happening.

“Aimeric! I can’t believe you would have to audacity to get possessed in my house!”

“You offend us,” not Aimeric said. The voice that came from his mouth was not his own and distinctly feminine, it also seemed to echo and repeat, as if multiple voices were speaking at once, “Is it not a blessing, when the gods choose one as their vessel?”

“Well shit,” Laurent said with a mumble. Shit always got messy when the gods were involved, “Who am I talking to?”

Aimeric’s head moved in that unnatural way again, his eyes somehow focusing but not, “We are called the Fates.”

“Fuck.”

It was especially bad when the Greek pantheon got involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Himbo and the pretty boys" should defs be a band name. I'd see them.  
> Sorry if it's a bit confusing, I stealing bits of plot from both series and then trying to cram my own on top. All I can say is that it'll all come together in the end.  
> Thank you to everyone that read, commented, and gave kudos last time and I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
> Please, validate me :D...
> 
> Until next time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late, and less edited but whatever.

Turns out there is no real protocol for when ancient Gods possesses someone in your house. It’s not like you can offer them a seat and a cup of tea, and ask them what they’re doing in your neck of the woods. However, that was exactly what Laurent was about to do because he really had no idea what to do otherwise. Ancel, however, did know what to do otherwise.

He burst into the kitchen and dove straight for the possessed man; the tips of his horns carving deep gouges into the ceiling. The Fates did not move out of the way, nor defend themselves, they simply let themselves be crushed under the weight of the demon. Ancel had one large clawed hand around his neck, the other had a firm grip on Aimeric’s hair, pulling his head back sharply. While Laurent had seen glimpses of Ancel’s Incubi nature over the past year, he had never seen Ancel’s true form.

He was tall, well over 7 foot, and the black horns that curled up and out from his temples easily gave him an extra foot. His face was no longer porcelain perfection, but instead a deep red with a piggish nose, blood red eyes and long sharp canines protruded from his mouth, cutting into his chin. His fingers were long and topped with razor sharp claws as were his toes, while his tail was long, thick and tipped with barbs. A true demon.

“I’d recognise the stench of your kind anywhere.”

Laurent slapped his hands over his ears at the noise that came from Ancel’s mouth. While he could understand what was being spoken, his voice seemed to incorporate every sound at once. From a high-pitched shrieking that rang through his head, to a deep rumble that he felt rattle him from the inside out. He strengthened his shields; however, it was for physical attacks, he had no idea how to defend himself from noise.

“What do you hope to do little demon?” the Fates said through Aimeric.

“I’m going to twist your fucking head off,” Ancel said, his voice causing another shockwave.

“We cannot die so easily. You’ll do nothing but kill this vessel.”

“Trust me when I say I can take you with him.”

“We are not the ones that cursed your love,” the Fates smiled as they said this. Ancel dug his claws in, drawing blood, “It hurts us too that we cannot cut his thread.”

“Tell me where to find that bitch, and I’ll let you live.”

The Fates laughed, their trio of voices gurgling from Aimeric’s throat.

“You’re a foolish thing from a dead empire. You think to command us so? And before you open your wretched mouth again, think what you are doing to the human here. We all need him alive.”

For the first time since charging into the room Ancel tore his attention from the possessed man. Laurent was on the ground, hands clamped to his head, thin streams of blood, running down his arms and between his fingers. In a second Ancel changed, his demon nature once again hidden behind red hair and lingerie. He stood from where he was still straddling Aimeric, running over to him only to find him running head long into Laurent’s shield.

“Laurent, honey, I’m sorry,” he said, placing his hand to push gentle against his shield.

“He can’t hear you,” not Aimeric said, “You’ve destroyed his hearing.”

“Shit,” Ancel started to pace back and forth, running his hands through his hair, “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” Whirling around, his hair fanning out in a perfectly magnificent wave, he pointed at the possessed man and sneered, “This is your fault!”

“Ancel,” Laurent said in a shaky voice, “I can’t hear anything.”

He had uncurled but remained kneeling on the floor, staring down at his bloodstained hands.

“We’re running out of time,” the Fates said.

Stepping up, they pressed their hands on the shield and started to push. Feeling the pressure against his shields, Laurent’s focus snapped from his hands to the pressure on his shield. Throwing his hands up, he pushed back, the smell of conflicting magics filling the air.

“Leave him alone!” Ancel said, grabbing the man by the shoulder and pulling.

Bright holy light filled the room, bursting out in a wave of energy that pushed Ancel away and broke through the shields. Throwing his hand up against the light, Laurent attempted to pull his shields back up. He still couldn’t hear anything happening around him and he was trying not to let the panic set in. Still, it was difficult to focus; his shields flickered and pulsed in time with the frantic beating of his heart. There was another burst of hot white light and his shields crumbled, the energy sending him skidding across the floor until he hit the wall.

Reaching deep, Laurent pulled from his reserves, a shock of pain hitting him briefly as the raw power grated against his soul wound. He couldn’t hear and the light was making it difficult to see. He tried to fall back on his training, but he wasn’t the soldier he used to be. Something that was becoming more and more obvious the longer the night wore on.

Before he could focus his energy, a hand reached through the light and gripped him tightly by the neck, pulling him upright. The light faded away and Aimeric stood in front of him, holding him up with strength Laurent knew he didn’t possess. His mouth was moving, but Laurent still couldn’t hear anything, the moment of panic about his hearing caused him to let out a shock of power. It rolled over Aimeric, not a hint of damage being taken. And then the God’s did something completely unexpected. The leaned forward, and forced their mouths together in a most inglorious kiss.

His hearing came back to him suddenly, like his ears simple popped and the world rushed back in.

“Listen carefully,” the Fates said, still pressed close to his face, “Find Damianos, and stay with him, let nothing separate you. You two must work together to stop him. He will listen to his gods.”

“Who?” Laurent said, although the anxiety was already rising. He knew who it was going to be.

“Your uncle.”

Then Aimeric smiled, closed his eyes and dropped to the floor.

…

The house felt too quiet even though Laurent was distinctly attuned to every little sound around him. The soft breathing coming from Aimeric where he continued to lay unconscious on the couch. The sound of running water that come from the kitchen sink. Ancel’s mutterings his almost, but not quiet, apologies as he helped to wash the blood off his hands. The sound of crickets outside, the hum of the refrigerator, even the brush of fabric against his skin as he moved. Yet, the house was quiet.

When Ancel slapped a wet cloth to his head and started to scrub at the blood there, Laurent grabbed the cloth and pushed him away.

“No wonder you always have a glamour on,” Laurent said, rubbing at his neck and ears, “You truly are ugly on the inside.”

“That hurts my feelings,” Ancel said with a flip of his hair. “At least I didn’t make out with an ancient deity. I mean, I know it’s been a while since you were serviced, but that’s just a new level of desperate.”

“Speaking of ancient how long have you been kicking around? How many wrinkles does your glamour hide?”

“I’d tell you to pull the stick out of your arse, but it truly is 90% of your personality. You’d be brain dead without it.”

“We both know you’re just jealous of the stick. Now, where are my cigarettes? May as well give you something else to be jealous of.”

They stared each other down for a moment before Ancel stepped forward with a smirk, lightly tapped his check and then turned out of the room.

“What do we do with Harry Styles here?” he called over his shoulder.

Following him out, Laurent bypassed the unconscious figure to go to his room. He quickly changed his shirt for the second time that night, Led Zeppelin this time, and picked up his cigarettes and a bottle of smelling salts. Before heading back out, he took a moment to sit down and slowly process everything.

  1. Aimeric continued to be more trouble than he was worth.
  2. Aimeric was now the host of ancient divining gods and as such had to be protected at all costs.
  3. Said gods had confirmed what he had know for the past year, that his Uncle had survived the beaches of Normandy.
  4. His Uncle was doing something bad enough or stupid enough that the gods felt it necessary to step in. Although not enough to do so directly.
  5. He was apparently supposed to be the one to do something about it. Not that he minded.
  6. Damianos was also apparently involved.
  7. He had to find Damianos and somehow convince him it was in his best interest to stick with Laurent.
  8. The fates appeared confident that Damianos would comply by the way they said, “He will listen to his Gods”.
  9. It was late and he had fought a troll, had a flashback, was deafened by his friend, healed by gods, sent on a quest by those same gods and had the fact that he was not as strong physically, mentally, or magically as he used to be jammed in his face.
  10. He was tired.



As much as he wanted to just lay back and deal with it all in the morning, he had a feeling the matter was time sensitive and he had to act now. For that to happen he needed to find Damianos, and that lead him back to the newly minted host of the gods. If Aimeric had done his hiring by the books, then he should have Damianos’ information on hand. He just had to hope that Aimeric wasn’t the type to pay under the table. At this point he was willing to accept that Aimeric was capable of anything, including tax fraud.

He needed a coffee.

Instead of coffee he rubbed his palms into his eyes, slapped his cheeks and then left the room after grabbing his jacket. Aimeric was where they had left him on the couch. Ancel was leaning over him with a pair of tweezers, plucking his eyebrows.

“What are you doing?”

“Just tidying up, he’s pretty, but everyone needs a bit of work. For example, you—”

“Shut up,” he said, throwing the bottle of smelling salts at Ancel’s head.

He caught it easily with one hand while he used his other hand to smooth out Aimeric’s eyebrows.

“Perfect,” he said, tossing the tweezers aside before looking at the bottle in his hand. “They branded it Hellfire? How apt.”

While Ancel opened the bottle, Laurent lit another cigarette and noted that the packet was diminished faster than he would like. If the night was truly going to drag out as long as he feared it was, he was going to have to get another packet. Ancel unwrapped one of the paper packets from the bottle revealing the bright orange insides which he cooed over. Anything orange or green Ancel cooed over.

When he was done cooing, he held the packet under Aimeric’s nose. It took no more than two seconds for Aimeric to startle back into existence with a snort. He blinked rapidly, looking around frantically before he focused on Ancel.

“Oh baby, I am going to do wonders with those eye lashes.”

“What. The Fuck?” Aimeric said, his worlds slurring together.

“Aimeric, congratulations on being blessed by the gods,” Laurent said, making his way into Aimeric’s field of vision.

“What?” he said, still blinking around. “Wait… oh fuck. This is a sick joke.”

“Remember now?”

“This is fucked up,” Aimeric said, pulling himself up, “I want nothing to do with this, I deny everything. The Fates can get fucked.”

Laurent did feel a moment of pity then. It couldn’t have been easy, being possessed by ancient gods, physically or mentally. Having foresight was especially painful as the gods burned through their vessels eyesight. Slowly but surely, after every vision, every possession, the person hosting the gods lost one shade, one colour. Until one day, they went totally blind, and shortly after, they went mad.

Aimeric and Laurent had the same training, the same intelligence, Aimeric knew exactly what lay in his future. Which was probably why he started to cry.

“Oh, come on, Aimeric, it’s not like you paint masterpieces in your spare time.”

Apparently it was the wrong thing to stay as Aimeric went from crying to openly sobbing. Emotions really weren’t his thing. Last time Aimeric started crying he suggested getting Thai, and then he went and got himself possessed. Ancel was of no use as all he was saying was that he should learn how to cry ‘less ugly’.

“I know who to call to keep you safe,” Laurent said, “But first, I need something for you, I need to know how to find Damianos.”

“Why do you- No, I remember, yes,” he said, pulling his phone out, “His address is on his pay slips, I’ll have it in a second.”

He was typing the address into the app on his phone a few minutes later.

“I’ll make the call,” Laurent said, pulling his jacket on and heading of the door, “Stay here for now, and Ancel, be nice.”

“Oh, I’ll be _so_ nice,” he said, leaning close to Aimeric.

Leaving the house, he walked to the garage a few metres away and stepped inside, walking up to a covered motorbike. It had been a while, but it was too late for public transport, and he had a feeling he had to act fast. If he needed to move fast, he had the perfect method.

Pulling back the dust cover he took in the five-year old neon green Kawasaki Ninja, with black accents, the bike he learned to ride on. His brother decided baptism by fire was the best way for him to learn how to ride. Something strangely out of character for his brother, as he was usually overprotective of him.

It had been a while since he had ridden, a year in fact, but he made sure to keep the bike in top condition. When he slung his leg over the bike, and slide the key into the ignition the bike started up smoothly. The sounds were almost soothing, the feel of the power underneath him exciting. Being back on the bike filled him with adrenaline, he wanted to be on the road again. Late as it was, and the location he was heading, the roads would be clear; he could hit the high speeds. As strong as the allure of the road was, he had something to do first.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialled someone he hadn’t spoken to since he was laid out in the back of an Ambulance, covered in blood with an IV in each hand.

He picked up after three rings.

“Line secure,” the voice answers.

“Jord,” he said. “I have some good news and bad news for you.”

…

The police kept him for hours after he arrived back at the bar. First, they wanted to arrest him for ‘indecent shifting in public’. Then, when they realised he was involved in the incident in the bar, they tried to insist that he was an illegal were-creature. When his approval to work in the city from the local god-pack was confirmed, the police told him to sit down and they would take his statement in a moment. Well, a moment turned into a few hours as they had to relocate when the integrity of the building was deemed dangerous. In the end, they only asked him a handful of meaningless questions, cut him off when he tried to talk, took his contact details, and send him on his way.

He was still naked by the time he got home. He had lost his keys somewhere in the bar when he first started to shift, but he just didn’t care at that point. He was fully prepared to break the door open and deal with the consequences later. However, when he came to the door of his run-down unit, the door was ajar, and light was coming out through the gap. Most concerning to him, was the fact that he could hear someone but could not smell them. Something that suggested to him that his intruder was either a magic user or someone with an expensive artefact.

There were a number of options open to him, and after the incident with the troll, he should have called the police. Yet after the last few hours his faith in the police was diminished, and he really just wanted to go to bed. That was why he decided to shift and burst through the door, heading to the source of the noise. He was more than ready to use his rights as a were-creature to protect his pitiful territory. When he burst through the kitchen door he recognised the figure standing in front of his fridge, causing him to draw up suddenly with as screech of nails.

“I thought my fridge was bad,” Laurent said, closing the door. He leaned back on the fridge with his arms crossed. “Although, I don’t know what’s worse, my empty fridge, or your fridge full of culture experiments. I think one of the containers was growing mushrooms, which, is an impressive feat I must admit. Your threshold is shit by the way.”

Damen shifted back and immediately demanded, “What are you doing here?”

“Might want to put some pants on Tigger,” Laurent said, his eyes flicking down over his naked form, “I’ve got some unsavoury news for you and I think you’d prefer it if your dick wasn’t out.”

“I’d rather you tell me now, dick out or not.”

He seemed ready to argue, but instead reached into the pocket of his denim jacket and pulled out a cigarette. He barely knew the man, but he could already guess that the cigarettes were like a tell, something he turned to when things got too difficult or too involved.

“After you left, something interesting happened with Aimeric,” he said, lighting the smoke.

“Did he start crying about how he’s always the victim?”

“Yes, but then he went and got himself possessed by a god… well, gods technically.”

“Wait, what? Aimeric? He is the least devote person I have ever met.”

“I know, I was surprised too,” he said, actually sounding genuine. “I think it was more a necessity thing. They needed me to hear something and Aimeric was the only vessel available. Unfortunately for him he’s stuck with them now until he’s dead.”

“What’s this got to do with you raiding me fridge at 3 am?”

“I should tell you first, they said you would listen to your gods.”

He felt it like a shock, one sudden deep throb that spread through his body. His gods, he only ever prayed to one pantheon, despite the conflict. The same gods he had prayed to his whole life, the same gods he had looked up to from Athens, the ones that reside on Mount Olympus.

“My Gods?”

“The Fates.”

“They chose Aimeric? Really?”

“As I said, necessity. Want to know what they said?”

“No, I don’t,” Damen said with a sigh, “Go ahead.”

“They told me we were to stay together, to let nothing separate us.”

“Why?”

Laurent stopped then, looking him over and breathing deep from his cigarette. He looked tired, and Damen was about to suggest they find a 24-hour shop that sold coffee when a familiar smell hit his nose.

“We need to leave. Now,” he said, striding out the door, shifting just enough for claws to rip from his fingers.

“What’s happening?” Laurent said, immediately alert.

“The troll is back.”

“Govart? How’d he know I was here?” Laurent was ready, the smell of magic thick in the air, his shields pulled in so sharply that Damen could hear the hum of them.

“He’s after you?” Damen said, spinning back to face him.

“Of course, he is, why?”

“When he showed up at the bar, he seemed to come straight for me. It was only after he asked me who I was that he shifted.”

Laurent rounded on him, smelling distinctly of ozone as electricity crackled around him.

“Don’t you think that’s something you should have mentioned earlier?” he said through clenched teeth.

“Now is not the time,” Damen shouted, running out of the unit, “Let’s get out of here before it ends up like the bar.”

He could hear Laurent running after him as he made his way through the building and onto the staircase. He used to grumble at the poor view from his first-floor unit, now he was thankful for it as he managed to hit the ground floor and be out the building entrance before the troll entered the building.

The troll, Govart, had grown again since they had last seen him destroy the upper floor of the bar. He had also managed to find himself another club, since Damen broken the last one across his back. Except it wasn’t a club, it was an uprooted pine tree and Damen had no idea how he had managed to drag in through the streets undetected. When Govart saw him, he smiled, at least Damen thinks he was smiling behind his buck teeth and bulging canines. It was easy for the troll to raise the tree and swing the tree at him.

Like the club earlier, Damen caught it easily, but unlike earlier, the pine needles slipped through his fingers. Govart pulled the tree up and swung it around again before Damen had time to react again. The tree hit him with enough force to knock him over but not stun him. He was about to shift when something small and sharp hit him in the back, a second later he felt the sting of aconite enter his body.

It was instant. The sting, the numbing sensation, the inability to move his body the way he wanted. He crashed to his knees as his arms went numb, making it impossible to reach behind him and find the source of the poison.

“Pathetic,” Laurent said, having emerged from the block of units behind him, “Both of you I mean. Govart, you’re just always pathetic. Damianos, I expected more.”

Damen felt a sting in his back again, and shortly after a dart hit the ground in front of him, obviously the source of the aconite. He started to feel better the moment the dart was removed, enough to stand up, but he couldn’t shift.

“Can you run?” Laurent asked him.

“I’m not leaving you here,” Damen said, trying hard to ignore the effects of the aconite.

“That’s not why I asked.”

Govart lifted his makeshift club again, swinging it around only for it to seemingly crash against nothing. However, Laurent staggered to the side, as if he had been hit directly.

“Can you run?” Laurent asked again.

“Yes.”

“Can you carry me?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s been a long night and the Gods have thrown us together. I need to know you can get us out of here when I do something stupid.”

Govart hit them with another blow and Laurent staggered again under it.

“Are you going to be able to keep your shields around us after you do something stupid?”

“Why?” Laurent asked, weathering another blow.

“Govart wasn’t the one to hit me with aconite. Another two darts have bounced off your shields since then, I heard them.”

Laurent was quiet, but Damen could feel the build of power.

“How far away did the dart come from?”

“What?”

“Use that nose of yours, how far is the shooter?”

The aconite still burned through his body, but he did as Laurent asked and focused on the smell of the dart and the direction it came from. He couldn’t smell anyone else, but he could smell grease, and powder, and feathers.

“Forty-five metres to the right, probably behind a parked car,” he took a moment to take another sniff, “I can’t smell them, but the gun is still there.”

“I can work with that, get close, and get ready to run.”

“What are you going to do?” Damen asked, doing as he was told and moving close enough to almost touch.

Laurent didn’t answer, not with words, but the air around him changed. It turned into a gale briefly before dropping away, the neighbourhood turning silent. Govart continued to swing at them, but it seemed muted. Then Laurent seemed to glow, electricity crackled across his body. He grabbed Damen’s hand tightly, gave him a small smile and then he let lose.

A ring of bright blue light erupted out from Laurent in a ring. It spread out, crackling against everything in a fifty-metre radius. Electricity ricocheted off of cars, streetlights, and mailboxes. The tree in Govart’s hand lit up like it was Christmas while Govart himself started to seize up and jolt from the current that came from Laurent pulse after pulse.

It kept on, the pine tree bursting into flames, while the glass in the cars around him started to melt. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, but Govart refused to back down, continuing to beat and push against them. Even as his hair burned from his head and his nails turned to black, charred, and broke apart.

The cars around them had basically melted by the time Govart gave up, dropping his improvised club and turning away. A trail of smoke streamed out behind him as he ran away. Laurent managed to keep up the current for another minute before dropping it, the suburban street around them deafeningly silent. Laurent turned towards him then, blood dripping from his nose and staining his teeth as he smiled.

“Well? Take me home big boy.”

He promptly collapsed, once again leaving Damen naked in public with an unconscious body.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four.

While the backstabbing he had experienced at the hands of Kastor and Jokaste was still the most unexpected experience of his life. He felt he was keeping that experience in first place purely because of the betrayal of family aspect. Yet, here he sat, in the house of someone he had once attacked, eating a burger, while his former boss turned vessel of the gods nibbled at fries having an Incubus brush his hair. Betrayal hurt, but the ridiculous was equally as memorable.

After the chain-smoking mage with a chip on his shoulder passed out on the street, he really didn’t have any other option but to pick him up and take him home. He also wanted some confirmation on the involvement of the fates. Although he can’t think as to why Laurent would lie about their involvement. The man looked at him like he was day old vomit on the sidewalk and obviously didn’t want to be around him unless he absolutely had to. Not that Damen could blame him after the mauling incident.

He had hauled his unconscious body back to the house where the demon had let him in as the sun began to rise. Aimeric was still there, sleeping on the couch, and after laying Laurent in his bed and being shooed out by the demon, he sat in the only remaining chair and tried to sleep. He got a few hours of broken sleep, waking constantly to every sound and smell. The demon didn’t sleep and was constantly moving around and re-entering the room causing Damen to jolt into consciousness. When he woke up to the demon gentle rubbing moisturizer over Aimeric’s face he forwent sleep all together. It hadn’t been quite enough, but it helped cycle the aconite through his body.

Standing up to stretched he got an appreciative whistle from the demon before being hit with a wave of arousal. On the couch, Aimeric moaned softly, a large smile on his face, but continued to sleep. The demon had stood from the couch, walking over on six-inch heels that brought them eye to eye.

“How about some breakfast?” he purred, very purposefully dropping his gaze down Damen’s naked form.

Damen couldn’t help the reactions of his body, not when a creature of ungodly sexual power was staring him down. It didn’t help that he had a weakness for beautiful men, even if he did prefer blondes. Fortunately, his brain was still functioning, even if his body was a dirty traitor.

“I’m off the menu.”

“Your accent is faint, barely there, but everyone swears in their own language. I bet I could make you scream in Greek.”

“You know what really turns me on?” Damen said in a whisper, stepping closer.

The demon’s eyes lit up, a smirk on his perfectly plump peach lips. Leaning up close Damen whispered in his ear, “Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce—”

To his surprise the demon started to laugh, and what a perfect laugh it was, complete with a flash of white teeth and a shake of perfect hair. The tone in the room lightened and the sex appeal oozing for the demon dissipated. On the couch, Aimeric snorted awake and looked about in confusion before groaning and rolling over to press his face into the couch.

“Write down your order very precisely. You too grumpy,” he said, poking Aimeric. “I’ll grab Berry’s card and venture out.”

He almost asked if he was really going to head out like that but stopped himself. He figured if a sex demon wanted to walk into a McDonalds in six-inch leopard print heels, white lace underwear and a fluffy baby pink robe popularised by murderous widowers everywhere, then there really was nothing stopping him. And that was how Damen found himself surrounded by takeout and disposable coffee cups, while his ex-boss nervously nibbled on fries with a demon brushing his hair.

“You’ve got about two inches of split ends,” the demon said with a sigh, continuing to brush away, “Your hair is a little oily too, but I’ve got just the thing for it. "When you’ve finished eating we’ll wash your hair and the I’ll get rid of the split ends.”

Aimeric just mutely nodded and continued to chip away at his fries like some traumatized rodent.

“I’ll see what I can do about your nails too, a bad habit you’ve got there. Do you know how much faecal matter gets under your nails? Yet here you are, sticking them in your mouth and giving them a nibble.”

Aimeric promptly stopped eating and dropped the fries onto the coffee table. Damen happily added them to his pile of food, figuring it was already too late and if there was faecal matter under his nails, he’d probably already eaten it.

“Oh good, you’re done,” the demon said, putting down his brush. “The bathroom is the first on the left, you get started and I’ll grab my products and join you in a second.”

Aimeric seemed to have just accepted the demons attention by that point and got up without a word to head to the bathroom. Shortly after the sound of running water came from the bathroom, underneath the sound of water, Damen could hear the sounds of sobbing. Damen tried to ignore it and unwrapped his third burger instead, taking a massive bite and engulfing half the product in one go.

“Before you go and attended to the important matter of Aimeric’s split ends, do you have anything I can wear?”

“Why on earth would I want to cover up such an impressive organ grinder?”

“I’m never going to use it to grind _your_ organ’s, so I’d rather put some pants on.”

“No wonder you want to fuck Laurent so much,” the demon said, standing up with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve got the same snark he does.” He left the room then, probably going to harass Aimeric about the state of his armpit hair or something.

Damen opened the wrapper on his fourth burger and grumbled to himself that he most definitely did not want to fuck Laurent. Sure, he was cute, and blonde, and had a smart mouth, and was extremely powerful, and a few other traits that Damen was personally attracted to. However, Damen just couldn’t help but imagine that sex with Laurent would be akin to sticking his dick in a meat grinder and turning the handle himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by the return of the demon who threw a bundle of clothes at him.

“That ones for Laurent,” he said, pointing to the only unopened brown bag on the coffee table. “His coffee is in the microwave. He’ll be up soon so I suggest you reheat it now.”

He then turned away and entered the first door on the left. His hearing was strong enough to hear the demon berate Aimeric about the temperature of the water, and underneath all that, he heard the subtle movements of someone waking up. He could hear the shifting of sheets, the groan of someone who really didn’t want to be awake yet. That gross squishing sound that came when someone pressed the palm of their hand into their eye and rubbed.

Inspecting the clothes, he found himself in possession of a pair of yoga pants and a shirt so overly large it would be baggy even on his large frame. The yoga pants had the opposite problem and were far too small. The stretch of the material let him pull them on, but they barely came up high enough to cover anything. He had to hold onto them when he walked into the kitchen as they felt like they would easily slide back down. After he put the coffee on to reheat, he pulled the pants up sharply, popping seams and pinching himself accidentally, but they eventually managed rest over his hips. As long as he didn’t move too suddenly he’d be able to keep them up.

When the microwave pinged, he grabbed the coffee and made his way back to the sitting room at the same time Laurent entered. He was wearing long blue pyjama pants with a Tardis print all over them as well as a large blue hoodie. The hoodie was pulled in tight leaving nothing put his face peeking out like a child, bundled up tight on a winter’s day. He sniffled as he shuffled into the room, his eyes watery and blood shot, the tip of his nose pink.

“That bag is for you,” Damen said, nodding at the brown bag the demon had indicated.

Laurent grimaced at the bag, waving his hand dismissively before plunging his hands into the deep pockets of the hoodie and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. Damen seriously wondered about the man’s lung capacity and couldn’t quite conceal his frown as he set the coffee down in front of the man. Laurent stared dumbly at the coffee, an unlit cigarette in hanging from his mouth. In the bathroom Aimeric started to yell about privacy.

“What on earth is happening in there?” Laurent said with a croak. He finally lifted the cup, taking a small sip before lighting up his cigarette.

“I think the demon is giving Aimeric a makeover.”

“Ancel.”

“What?”

“The demon has a name, it’s Ancel.” 

“Sorry if I don’t want to make friends with demons?”

Laurent set the coffee down in a way that somehow sounded ominous. He stared at Damen across the coffee table, his eye-contact unbreakable as he took a sharp draw form his cigarette. 

“We’re stuck together, remember? That means you have to play nice to me and the other inhabitants of this house, as we all contribute to the power of the threshold. And Ancel? I guess you could say he’s somewhat of a reformed Incubus.”

Damen scoffed, picking up the now cold fries Aimeric had abandoned. “He didn’t seem that reformed earlier.” He shoved a handful of fries in his mouth, finishing off the pack.

“What you don’t realise is that if he really wanted to, he would have you kneeling on the floor and begging for the pleasuring of licking his heels. You’ve got few allies at the moment Damianos, don’t make enemies where you don’t have to.”

“You don’t know what I’ve got,” he said with a growl, his nails sharpening even as he felt the sharp sting of aconite still in his system.

“I know you’re supposed to be dead after being challenged by your brother; meaning you’re cut off from the pack you spent your whole life with. I know you're working for Aimeric, in an insignificant bar that caters to rejected members of the preternatural community. I know that you live alone, in a one-bedroom apartment, that isn’t within the territory of any official packs in the city. You haven’t got shit Damianos, nothing but a prophecy from half-forgotten gods and the people in this house.”

Damen wanted to reach over and rip his head from his body. Mostly because he was right. He had nothing, no pack, no territory, no friends, not even a pair of fitting pants.

_You will always have me._

Not wanting to focus on that particular problem, Damen instead reached over and grabbed the bag containing Laurent’s food.

“Put it down,” Laurent snapped.

“Why? You’re not going to eat it.”

“Now!” he said, a ripple of electricity running over him in a bright current.

He looked threatening enough, but Damen could hear the increase in his heart rate, smell the sweat that was breaking out across his body. He didn’t have the energy to sustain magic at the moment. So, Damen called his bluff and opened the bag revealing…

“A happy meal? Really?”

Laurent was human enough to look slightly embarrassed and dropped the flow of magic. Damen didn’t resist when Laurent reached over and snatched the bag from his hands. Instead he gave him a large smirk that said, ‘I’m going to bring this up constantly’. Laurent crumpled the bag to his chest, starring daggers at Damen.

Behind him the door to the bathroom opened and Ancel stepped out.

“When you’ve washed out the conditioner, lightly towel dry and brush with a wide tooth comb. I’ll do the rest.”

Stalking back into the room, Ancel flopped onto the couch as though he was absolutely exhausted. He layback, he propped his head up on the armrest and then crossing his legs in an overly showy manner before resting them on Laurent’s lap.

“Laurent, darling, you look like sun-baked dog shit.”

“Familiar with sun-baked dog shit are you?”

“I see you every morning don’t I?”

“Your outfit looks cheap, and your heels are tacky,” he said, shoving the heeled feet off of his lap. “No one wears leopard print anymore.”

“A bit rich coming from someone who regularly goes out wearing double denim.”

“You’re the one that wears last season products because you can’t afford them when they’re released.”

“Honey, we both know I don’t have to actually _buy_ anything.”

“I’m not wearing this!” Aimeric screamed as he exited the bathroom, a towel clutched over his front. In his other hand he held a bunch of gauzy items which he threw at Ancel.

“Put it away Aimeric, no one needs to see that” Laurent sneered.

“I need real clothes!” Aimeric said, stomping back into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him

“You have zero fashion sense!” Ancel yelled back.

“I also need some real clothes,” Damen chimed in.

“Aimeric I need to use the shower so have your melt down somewhere else,” Laurent said, making no effort to move and instead sipping his coffee.

“Fuck you!” came Aimeric’s muffled reply through the door.

“You only had to ask!” Ancel said.

“I have a headache,” Laurent mumbled, opening up the bag still clutched to his chest and taking out the crumpled kids meal.

“Me too,” Damen said, only to himself.

…

It was well past midday before they figured out what they were doing. Ancel got some of ‘Berry’s boring clothes’ for Aimeric. Damen got the leftovers from Laurent’s happy meal, but wasn’t allowed to play with the toy. Laurent got his shower and emerged dressed in black denim jeans, a faded blue denim jacket, the same tattered grey scarf, and a Black Sabbath t-shirt which had a silhouette of a demon in flight. Damen’s suspicions that Laurent chose that exact outfit out of spite were confirmed when he looked directly at Ancel and gave him the finger.

Aimeric and Damen needed clothes as well as other personal items such as phones, computers, chargers, and medication in Aimeric’s case. Laurent mentioned needing to get his bike from Damen’s place. In the end they decided Aimeric would stay in the house with Ancel while Damen and Laurent went to retrieve the necessary items. Damen had little hope for retrieving anything from Aimeric’s place as the building had looked like a write off. However, he was looking forward to wearing his own, proper fitting clothes.

They ended up awkwardly sitting across from each other on the train as it rattled through the suburbs. Laurent ignored him for the most part, choosing to instead stare out the window and incessantly flick the wheel of his lighter.

“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk last night,” Damen said, attempting to break the ice.

“I imagine it was somewhat difficult between the troll attack and me being unconscious and all,” Laurent said, not looking away from the window. Then he slapped his hand hard against the window causing the world around them popping into a weird muted silence. A silencing charm, Damen realised, no one else in the carriage would hear their conversation.

“Wish I’d thought to do that last night,” Laurent mumbled, before turning to actually look at Damen. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything?” Damen said, as if it wasn’t too much to ask. “Do you know why the Fates told us to stick together? And what’s with the troll? You seemed convinced he was after you and then got angry when you learned it was after me. What’s your relationship with Aimeric? Are you still in the army? Is this an army thing?”

Laurent dug his ever present cigarette’s out of his pocket and popped one in his mouth, “You don’t ask for much do you?” he said, lighting it up.

“That’s the least I need to know. As you said, we’re stuck together, and I need to know what’s happening.”

Laurent sucked the cigarette down in an impressive amount of time, reduced the butt to ashes and then let out a column of smoke.

“The Fates decided we needed to work together to stop someone. The troll, Govart, is working for the same person. Govart and I have history that also involves that same person. I have no idea why Govart was after you, but he’s too stupid to act on his own so _he_ must want you. Aimeric and I use to work together for the army, which he fucked over for the same person. I am no longer in the army. And no, this is not an army thing.”

“I think we’re still missing some vital information here.”

“Yeah, like why they wanted you.”

“Like who this certain person is. What’s their influence? What do they want? Yes, what do they want from me, but I need to know who they are?”

Laurent looked back out the window, opened the pack of cigarettes, closed it again and then looked back at him. He still looked wrung out and slack faced; dark lines under blood shot eyes.

“Did you hear anything about the incident at Normandy a year ago?” he said, sounding reserved.

Damen shook his head, he had only been in France for three months, and a year ago he was in Greece, getting his throat torn out.

“A year ago, a mage tried to use the site to remove the god head from a minor deity, and attach it to themselves. There are three main ways to complete a ritual,” Laurent said, holding up three fingers, “One is through blood, usually familial is best. The second is through sex, kind of archaic but still strong. The third is through sacrifice. Now, our power hungry mage thought outside the box because he didn’t bring the sacrifice himself, he chose the site where thousands of people choose to sacrifice _themselves._ ”

Laurent sat back and gave into his cravings by lighting up again. The no smoking sign on the window next to them started to bubble and melt.

“Unconventional, but still strong. There is a lot of resonance at old sites, a lot of magic. You can’t have thousands of people, fighting for their lives, their country, their beliefs and not have it leave a lasting effect. Usually it’s just an unpleasant feeling, or a recurrence of feelings, most people feel it whether they’re a magic user or not. It’s why people feel unnerved in cemeteries or have a visceral reaction to certain rooms in houses.”

Laurent quieted again, his leg jingling up and down while he looked out the window.

“And?” Damen said after he remained quiet for too long, “Did he get the god head?”

“No,” Laurent spat, “At the cost of dozens of soldiers’ lives he didn’t manage to succeed. He was presumed dead, and hasn’t made an appearance since the incident. But I knew he was still out there.”

“You were there?”

“I was there… I’m the one that stopped him,” he hissed, jamming the butt of his cigarette into the wall of the train. “I can only assume that if he’s resurfaced he’s going to try again for another god head.”

“Who is he?”

“This is our stop,” he said, getting up as the train slowed at the station.

Having dozen more questions and no other choice available, Damen followed him out.

…

The bar was still destroyed, but at some point support bars had been installed to stop the upper floors from crumbling. There had been a temporary fence around the place and a security guard, but they accounted for nothing as with a wave of his hand Laurent made it possible for them to enter undetected. A look away charm he had called it, which was one Damen had never heard of before.

Unfortunately, there was no real way to access what was left of Aimeric’s unit. As it was directly above the bar, when the troll had shifted and taken out the ceiling, most of Aimeric’s belongings had fallen into the rubble. They had little choice but to search through the debris and pick out what they could.

After half an hour he had found two pairs of underwear, one pair of jeans, four button up shirts still in a packet, a framed photo of Aimeric and three men that could only be his brothers, one charger, and a small succulent in a glass jar that really should not have survived. He also managed to find his backpack with his keys, phone and wallet which was in the staff room that was mysteriously undamaged. Laurent had found three packets of cigarettes, a pair of boots, an intact bottle of scotch, two bottles of wine, and a small painting of a boat that had hung over the door.

“We’re supposed to be here for Aimeric, not so you can loot the store,” Damen said, pulling out a rolled up pair of socks.

“He’s insured,” was his only response.

Damen gave up on trying to find any more of Aimeric’s belongs after another ten minutes and decided to just join Laurent in looting the store. When they found the till under a support beam they stared at it, both going through the moral reckoning of what to do with it.

“A hundred each and we give the rest to Aimeric?” Laurent suggested.

“He owes me more,” Damen grumbled but agreed.

They left after emptying the till, awkwardly carried their items with them towards Damen’s unit.

After the destruction of Aimeric’s place, Damen’s stop would be simple. At least it would have been if Damen had kept his mouth shut.

They were in his bedroom. Laurent was sitting on his bed, flicking his lighter again. Damen had his back to him and was attempting to squeeze himself out of too tight yoga pants when he asked.

“Who is this mystery mage? And how did you stop him?”

Damen sensed the change immediately, the scent of sweat and fear, the increased heart rate, the sound of the lighter flick, flick, flicking.

“Shut up,” he said through gritted teeth.

Damen had just managed to pull the pants off when he asked, “Why won’t you tell me? Is it your brother or something? Because if it is, I definitely understand the betrayal.”

There was a rush of air, and then the smell of something burning. Spinning around he found Laurent still on his bed, but with a black ring around him that was slowly growing as tiny embers of fire ate at his bed.

“Don’t talk about him,” he said, the embers moving and flowing along with each spoken word.

“Did I hit a nerve?” Damen asked, turning back to his pants problem. “Must be uncomfortable for you. You’re constantly insulting everyone but can’t handle anything directed at you. Or your brother I should say. ”

“Auguste is dead you dense fuck!”

Damen spun around, jeans in hands, just in time to watch as the bed burst into flames. Laurent sat in the middle, staring at Damen with an intensity that could put horror movies to shame. While he felt sorry for him, burning his bed was really putting a damper on his sympathy.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Damen said. “If it’s not Auguste, then tell me who it is and how you stopped them?” The carpet was melting under his feet from the intensity of the flames, it wouldn’t be long before the whole place was up in flames.

“You do realise other people live in the building?” Damen yelled over the sound of the roaring flames.

Realising people outside of himself existed seemed to do it as the flames slowly dwindled, disappearing in a puff of smoke. The air smelt unpleasantly of burnt polyester. Damen tried not to think about how there was no way he was getting his bond back.

Laurent remained silent, sitting on the burnt out bed, head low as Damen went about dressing himself and collecting his items. He shoved what he needed into an old bag and then scrounged up another one to shove Aimeric’s items into. The only thing left out was the small plant, which Damen shoved into Laurent’s hands.

“Let’s go,” he said turning away.

“It’s my Uncle,” Laurent said in a whisper.

“The plant?”

“My Uncle, he’s the one after the god head.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes family fucks you over like that,” Damen said, shouldering the bags and making to leave.

“I stopped him by sacrificing, Auguste.”


End file.
